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￭ Epistle of a millennial
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On the road towards hospital, there are two coffin shops, it`s hilarious to watch where the body ends. On the road towards hospital life is short and interestingly close to nightmare or something far away from you. But it`s here, beside me, every step of the way. So much emptiness about death means only a flint of fear because senses are so uncomprehended and so deep that I don`t think something can be more captivating than a world
Your coffin is in front of me and everybody is watching my turn in stone. Benumbed by nightmare, I think of what is my own meaning of a ladder to life. The world is watching me: Yes! I am alive and I breathe and the text that I have been locking inside of me for a very long time lies sober and empty over my soul. And I am avaricious, I don`t want to show you how small my tear is and how beautiful I learn to be. And I am angrier and I am more without him. The chest to which I write is empty of soul and the chest to which I write is the emptiness of heart beatings.
I don`t want to rewind memories. Because the memories are faded and only mine. I don`t want to share them with you because now, now, now THEY are only my everything. But still, the memories are life and my life won`t spin in desert, that is why you`ll only get
The first memory:
Oak forest and the first chair alive. Since then the forest was a fairy.
Stags and deers, in winter they existed beautifully
And I inspired deep the most wildest memory. And I knew not.
Butterfly wings flutter and untie in the fast- moving warm adventure, in the starts roaring catastrophe, in the calm hole simple love, in the fragrance of hole and glossed memory. The wings simulated my pain, they put it along and a lot over my eyes with much too small light tears.
All these cadences are my life and I exist from phenomenon to phenomenon, from moment to moment until the peaks of the dual universe: so sweet and so bitter. And everything is mine, mine since the beginning that now ends.
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